A Little Problem
by Reda
Summary: England encounters a backlash and now he's turned into his chibi self. In order to keep it secret, America and Canada decide to hide him until they can figure out a solution. There's another problem, though. England's losing his memories.  USUK
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes****:**

-Written in the early morning/ late night. (You know, the after midnight am hours where imagination really gets a jump start and things are also a little wacky). I have role-played but otherwise not written anything down for Hetalia. This is a first. I find it adorable but it may be an idea already done or not so adorable as I thought. I love role-reversal type of things, though, so maybe this fits into that. Who knows?

-Uh, America refers to himself as a big brother to Canada; I kinda have the feeling that America would believe this whether or not it's true (ya know, are they twins/ who is older / blah blah blah)

-Real names and country names used

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters or original story of Hetalia. I do own this fan-made work though. (Kairi- I never understood these disclaimers. Why would the creator of a series not only make a fanfiction, but post it on ffnet I don't know really.)

**Pairing: **USUK; more pairings possible but not likely

**Timeline: **Psh. Modern day? But it's not really relevant (I don't think so anyway). And although I try and research history, finer points may be lacking or accidental "oops" statements. Feel free to correct me if you see something out of place.

**Summary: **England gets himself into a bit of trouble with his magic. He's reverted back to his childhood form, and if that weren't bad enough now he's starting to lose his memories, too. America and Canada get the fun of keeping the secret from the rest of the world nations and trying to solve the little problem on their own.

~!~

A Little Problem

_Chapter 1_

~!~

"America, we have a problem."

He looked up, curious but only half interested. Canada usually came to talk to him about problems, and they were usually easily solvable. Because America knew how to solve things, being a hero and all. Hero and big brother. Of course he always solved problems. That was his job. That was what he did.

Nevermind the fact that Canada was coming to him less and less. Nevermind the fact that over these last few years, America had been unable to solve his own problems and was still trying to solve the problems of the rest of the world. Still trying to be the hero from his glory days, even though his country was falling into disrepair.

Not that it was his fault, of course. Politicians were ruining him. They'd be the death of him. Ah, if only he knew more history. Some of his people were warning that it was similar to Rome. The fall of the Roman Empire was happening again – with America.

Bah.

He would solve it – his current financial crises. Everyone had them, and everyone clawed their way out. Eventually. So Greece was having problems with riots. So Europe was looking to be closer to turmoil.

But America was fine. He was always fine. He just...couldn't solve everyone's problems anymore.

So, maybe it was with more than curiosity that he looked up at Canada's statement. Maybe it was with a bit of hope. Canada was coming to him for help again. Maybe things were getting better. Maybe he really could solve this problem. Maybe...

"Err...who's the kid?"

Turning around in the office room, America found himself staring at a blond haired kid with green eyes, standing next to a sheepish looking Canada. There was something annoyingly familiar about the kid, too, which was why he couldn't look away. But it wasn't the eyes. And it definitely wasn't the ragged outfit with an old green cloak that looked like it came right out of a medieval fantasy movie. Of course, for someone who always solved the world's problems, it took him a hell of a long time to recognize the one feature most people would have noticed right away.

"Bloody git, are you really that stupid?"

The bushy eyebrows twitched as the eyes closed and the little arms crossed in front of his chest as the child frowned. Big...bushy...eyebrows...

(Of course it wasn't even the voice or manner of speech that made America realize the disturbing truth.)

"England! Bro, what the hell! Why are you all pint-sized?"

"Pint-sized?" England gnashed his teeth together in that all familiar way, glaring at him out of the corners of his eyes, clearly upset.

Of course, America did what he always did when England was mad at him. He laughed. "Yeah, man, what happened? You look like a little kid!"

"You are such an idiot."

Seeing as England wasn't about to admit to America what had happened, Canada made the decision to fill in the loud nation. "Uh...America...well, see, you know how England does all that magic stuff?"

"Yeah, I always find it hard to believe it works, seeing as the majority of my people don't believe in all that hocus pocus stuff." This statement earned him an insult-under-the-breath and another glare.

"Uh, well, England's encountered what's called a backlash..."

"A what?"

"A backlash you dolt! It's what happens sometimes when your spell gets reflected or stopped or doesn't work right," England grumbled, still glaring, apparently not happy to be here for whatever reason.

Canada was nodding his head, though there was a bit of a grimace on his face. Maybe part of that glare was directed to him? Nah. That wouldn't make sense. England was never mad at Canada. Hell, no one was ever mad at Canada.

"So, let me get this straight," America said, leaning back against his office desk – which was filled with papers meshed around everywhere, completely unorganized. Not that he cared about organization; there hadn't been any real need for it, not since the politicians had started to take care of things without consulting him first. "England did some wacky magic stuff. It didn't happen like it should have. And now he's a kid again because of some backlash?"

"Oh, look, you can figure things out on your own," the Britain child remarked sarcastically.

And Canada mumbled a quiet, "But we told him everything."

Nobody cared to respond with the obvious. If it had been anyone else to make such a statement, there would have been a moment of "duh" or "I was being sarcastic" or mumbles of "dumb ass" or "idiot" or "obviously." But not with Canada. People were nice to Canada, in that "we're ignoring you" sort of way. But Canada had been the one to prove that being ignored was better than being bullied or attacked.

With a shrug of his shoulders, America brought up his first solution in the form of a question. "So, why don't you do some magic and make yourself the right age?"

This time, England didn't get mad at him. This time, Canada didn't wince or roll his eyes. This time, the younger England lowered his head as if hiding something – as if in shame.

"I can't."

America blinked. "What? Why not? You magicked yourself into this problem, why can't you magic yourself out of it?"

The green eyes looked up, started to glare, and then glanced to the side. "If it was that easy, I would have already done it."

"I know. That's why I asked...why you can't..."

At first there was genuine surprise in the look England gave him, like he couldn't believe America had thought ahead or meant a question so literally – two things he should have known about America; meaning exactly what he said was something America was notoriously good at and known for. After the surprise, the child version of his supposed-to-be-older ally sighed and spread his arms helplessly.

"I can't remember how to do anything."

"Anything?" America exclaimed.

England's eyebrows twitched again. "Anything with magic. Well, no that's not true. I can remember some things, but only the simple spells. The basic ones." He sighed and looked away again. "The ones I knew when I looked like this... Everything else is just...it's like I would have to... I think I'm losing my memories..."

For a few awkward silent moments, America sat there, leaning against his desk, mouth open in shock. England was forgetting things? Losing his memory? Wasn't that what happened to old people? But he had gotten younger... Why would he be losing his memory? That didn't make any sense. Or did it?

Closing his mouth, America put his hand on his chin and started to stare at the floor. Thinking. (Yeah, it happened.) England had said the only magic he could remember was what he knew when he was a child. Did that mean his memory was related to being reverted back to an earlier age? Was he going to forget everything that happened during his adulthood? Everything from childhood to now?

How could he run a country like that? What would the other countries think? Would they take advantage? Would France invade? Or anyone else? Would they demand he step down? With everyone in the United Kingdom at each others throats anyway, would it open up the possibility of more civil war there, more wars for independence? Ah, the chaos that could erupt... What if England was dissolved as a nation – what if he disappeared?

Startled at the thought, America jumped up. "Holy shit dude we have to keep this a secret!"

England scoffed. "Obviously. Can you imagine what that bloody bastard France would do? Just imagining our early relationship sets me on edge."

Ignoring the idea of a relationship between France and England (really?), America turned to his twin brother who was still standing in the doorway, being so quiet it would be hard to remember he was even there. "Hey dude let's take him to my apartment."

"I'm right here..."

Ignoring England's childish whine – because that's what it sounded like now – America stayed focused on his original intentions. "You know, if he were seen around here, things might get dicey. What with the cameras and the news people that hang around this building, it's hard enough for me to stay out of the spotlight. A little kid would look _really _out of place if he got caught. Uh, why did you bring him here anyway? Why not just call me?"

Canada shrugged and leaned back against the edge of the door frame. "He wanted to see you."

"Aw, really?" America said with a half-hearted laugh, trying to keep a reign on the warm feeling that knowledge caused.

England was suspiciously quiet and America had the idea that the nation was covering up a blush – America had seen it enough to guess without turning around to check for himself this time. Even if England was now a child, making these feelings even more awkward than usual.

With a smile on his own face, Canada brushed past the awkward moment by changing subjects. "Anyway, I think it's a great idea to take him to your place, at least until we figure out what to do."

America narrowed his eyes, hearing the unspoken word. "But?"

And Canada sighed, "But it'd probably be better if I went back home."

"What? Why?"

"You're going to leave me alone with him?" England exclaimed from his place a few feet beneath him. Being a child left him kind of short and out of taller people's conversations.

Tilting his head to the side, Canada let loose with one of his big smiles, closing his eyes. "I think you can handle it, America. Besides, I have a country to run, too. And, no offense, but my politicians are asking for my opinion and advice now – and I don't think yours are."

With a groan, America conceded. "Well you got that part right. I have all the free time I could want now!"

"Which means you're the perfect person to take care of our little problem," Canada said, his grin never falling.

At first, America grinned back – Canada's smile was contagious after all. "Yeah! I'll figure out how to fix it and in the meantime we'll party at my place!"

"Party?" Came England's worried voice. "Now wait just a minute..."

Completely ignoring the bite-sized nation, Canada waved and spun around to walk out, tossing a quick remark over his shoulder as he went. "I'll call if I think of anything."

"Haha, yeah, okay!" America said, waving back, before it hit him. "Hey, wait, what am I supposed to do? Canadia?" When he realized that his twin brother was long gone, he let out a long sigh and then turned his laugh to the little England. "So I guess it's just you and me, then."

To which England hung his head and responded, "Bollocks."

~!~

"Put me down!"

Kicking and struggling did no good. Nothing worked, ever. He supposed it was just normal. England was always fighting him, always upset over something – not like he was with France, but he wasn't ever warm and inviting, that much was sure. Even as a chibi, England was fighting against him, demanding to be given proper respect, insisting that he knew better.

There was a reason he had rebelled. Well, it had been his people, of course, and it had torn him apart to fight him for real, but England couldn't ever let go. He was like a parent that couldn't accept his children had grown up. America had tried other ways, tried to break it off easy, but England had made it difficult – until his politicians made the final call.

As nations, they were ruled by their people.

But they were people, too. In their own special immortal represent-a-country way.

"Artie-"

"Don't you dare call me that."

He laughed. "Why not? It's like the perfect nickname."

"Only children get nicknames like that..." He paused as America sniggered. "Oh bloody hell. Just put me down, you oaf!"

"Okay," America said, setting the child England in a chair at the kitchen table.

Stepping back, leaning over the table on the other side, America felt his grin grow. Poor England was too short to see over the table edge and his legs were hanging over the chair, unable to reach the ground. He could imagine the curses Arthur would want to shoot at him and he was waiting to hear them all with that undeniably cute high pitched child's voice. He found the idea of a young kid cursing like an adult – and British cursing at that – to be the funniest thing – though he had honestly never thought it so hilarious until today when he was brought face-to-face with the phenomenon.

Sadly, he didn't get his wish. Instead of falling for the trap America wanted, England maneuvered his legs around to an open side of the chair and kicked his way down to the floor, dusting his obviously old clothes off as if it mattered. He then turned a narrowed-eyed glare toward America, but just a quick glance of one before focusing his attention toward the dark hallway.

"I told you not to bother with food. I would much rather go to bed early and deal with all of this in the morning."

Trying not to pout, America crossed his arms and kept playing along. "Well, grumpy kids don't deserve supper anyway." Then, ignoring the heated glare, he continued in his best angry-mother voice. "Go to bed without dinner, you naughty boy!"

"_You_ are not allowed to speak to me like that!" England snapped.

"Oh? And what are you going to do about it?"

America didn't get a response, just a more angry England. Which wasn't really what he wanted. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen at all. He was supposed to poke a little fun at the unfortunate nation and then proceed to find a quick solution. But there was no such thing as a quick solution. Not when it came to reversing magic and the only person who knew anything about magic had no idea how to fix his own problem.

Shaking his head, America decided he really needed to be more responsible. England was probably freaking out about his memory loss and little condition. Dammit. What Arthur needed right now was someone to be caring and supportive, like a real hero. Not an immature friend who could only poke fun at his unfortunate circumstance. No wonder England was so angry with him.

_Okay. Serious face._

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat? It'd probably be a good idea, even if you don't feel like it now."

Little England turned to him, eyes wide before narrowing in that suspicious stare, on guard immediately. "I am not sure I trust your food."

At this, America had to laugh. The thought of England complaining about someone else's food was a new hilarity all on its own. That was something he would _have_ to share with the others whenever he saw them again, though he wasn't exactly sure when it would ever come up in conversation.

"Ah, don't worry. I'll cook something. Americans have all kinds of food besides cheeseburgers and soda, you know." He paused in his thinking, taking steps toward the refrigerator to see what kind of easy-to-make food he could put together really fast. "I mean, I don't know how much is actually original, but since we have people from all over the world – we have all of their foods too. Though I'm sure it's probably just cheap rip-off versions or whatever...still...it makes for good variety."

"Mmhmm," England didn't say anything in response so much as he nodded and kept his mouth shut.

Finding that his fridge was pretty much empty, America started to panic and opened his cabinets, looking for something, anything that he could make in five minutes or less. His eyes landed on his stash of spaghettio's and he knew then and there that it was the perfect choice. Now if only he could convince England to stay and eat instead of sulking in bed...

"Really, though, just tell me where I can sleep in this place."

"Nuh uh, you're gonna eat something," America said, shaking his head, insisting.

"Honestly, America..."

_Time for the puppy dog face. _"Please, England~ Five minutes?~"

Even as he distracted and pleaded, America was busy opening the can and setting it all up. There was no time for the stove. It was up to the microwave. He hadn't come across a kid yet who didn't like spaghettio's. No way would England hate it. Considering what the guy ate in his home, something even this simple should be amazing. (Though honestly America didn't despise England's cooking as much as the others, even if he could admit it wasn't the best in the world.)

As soon as the bowl was ready, he pulled out a spoon and set it in front of England – who was making the chair work for him by standing on it. Until America set up some kind of booster seat that would be the best option, besides sitting on the floor.

"You've got to be kidding," England said, frowning at America's ridiculously hopeful gaze. "This is what you come up with? Really?"

Sitting down with his own bowl, America shrugged. "It was this or ramen. I can't work miracles, not in five minutes."

"Hah."

When England shook his head and started eating, America knew there was more to that thought, but with little England eating spaghettio's, he didn't care. There was something undeniably cute about this whole situation, even if it wasn't exactly what he had imagined when he thought of bringing England home for dinner. Dinner and a movie. A little sit-at-home date. Of course it would have to come after a real date, but he had imagined this far...even though he had never gotten to that first question.

With a sigh, he took a spoonful of the little pasta 'o's. Definitely not what he had imagined as his first "alone-in-my-house" moment with England. Oh well. There would be others. Hopefully. Eventually. He had to stay optimistic right?

_Haha. Yeah right. Did you not see how upset he was about being left alone with you?_

"Hey, this is great!" The happy childish voice perked him up out of his thoughts. It didn't even sound like England was upset anymore; he almost sounded like a real kid. "Thanks, mister!"

America felt his hand freeze, spoon handle sitting in the cup of his palm.

_Wait, what did he just say..._

"Oh wait, I don't remember having introductions." As child England reached out with a hand, America felt his heart fall, remembering something from earlier.

"_I think I'm losing my memories..."_

"My name's Arthur Kirkland." Cute, innocent, honest smile. Nothing like how he was five minutes ago. It couldn't be. He couldn't forget... That would just... It would...

_Please don't let him forget me. He can't forget me._

"Who are you?"

~!~

_A/N: And you probably saw that coming from a mile away. Ah well. Like I said earlier, I don't know if this idea has been explored before or not. I'm pretty sure I haven't come across it. And I just had the idea while watching my new chibi-England shimeji. Really._

_(Kairi) WHY THE FUDGED MUCKETS ARE YOU ENDING IT THERE? Geez, you're as bad as Hetaoni person. -3-. Well… Yeah, I don't know what to say other than 'crap, now I have to draw little England eating spaghetti "o"'s'. Now I want some spaghetti "o"'s… Italy~ Wait, no, Ita would just make big old pots of pasta, and his pasta can't beat mama's pasta. Anyways~ Imma go get some food now…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Notes****:**

-I'm going to finish this. I grabbed my sister and made a quick role-play event because I couldn't think of anything else to do and I _hate_ leaving things uncompleted. What this boils down to, then, is no epic storyline for you. It's just meant to be something cute and quirky in the first place. Nothing too serious. I _did_ put it under humor, after all.

-In a nut shell: please don't expect super awesome twists or a great plot. I just wanted cute moments with little Iggy (who I would put as an 8-year-old or younger?) and adult America.

-Also: role-play means the story is going to have a lot of dialogue and be kinda pushed forward by the dialogue, though I try to add in as many inward thoughts – and of course description – as I can.

-Granted I did come up with funny time-paradox-type headaches. So, enjoy I guess!

~!~

A Little Problem

Chapter 2

~!~

"Who are you?"

America gaped and felt the little flutter in his heart fall into his stomach and start twisting around to cause a terrible ache. How could England forget him? Was he stuck in some kind of time-travel hocus-pocus mess? Was he stuck going backwards? How far back would he go?

He felt the tears in his eyes and clenched his jaw in an effort to keep them back. How could Iggy _forget_ him?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, America reached out to grasp the tiny child's hand in his own, finding it only slightly funny that England was proper even as a child. _His hand is so smooth. Mine feels big and calloused now – and it's not like I'm a war-hungry nation. England had an empire at one point. _

_At one point,_ he reminded himself. When Iggy was the great Britannia Empire he was no longer a child. So of course he wouldn't have the scars or the callouses from holding a sword or other weapon in hand for years. Of course he would still be innocent and …

_Holy crap! Iggy's cute and innocent now!_

And the little nation was staring at him, waiting patiently for an answer. Clearing his throat, America opened his mouth – and decided to give his human name. "Name's Alfred F. Jones," he stated, shaking the little hand enveloped by his own. "You should probably call me Alfred, though."

Little England nodded and took his hand back. "Right. Alfred." America watched as the wide green eyes glanced around the apartment space, obviously curious. "You do not happen to be a nation, do you?"

With a wince, America turned back to his own bowl of food, playing with the soupy mixture but not ever picking up his spoon to take a bite. His mind was plagued with other questions. How should he answer that? What if England really was trapped in some kind of weird time vortex? What if what happened to him now would affect him in the future?

He cringed at the idea. A misplaced statement had the possibility of destroying the Iggy he knew and loved. Well, maybe, but he wasn't about to take the risk.

So with a nod, he took a breath and kept his eyes on his food as he responded. "Actually, no, I'm not, but I do know you are one." Off to the side, he mumbled, "Actually, I kind of look up to you and your country."

_That much is true, at least._

He glanced up to see the little blush on England's face, probably caused from the praise. "Right. Well, I'll be needing to return to my own country now. Thank you for the food."

As Iggy hopped off the chair, America felt his eyes widen as he burst out, "No! You can't leave!"

He could notice the tensing of Arthur's childish body and he winced at having to scare him like this, at having to lie to him. "What do you mean? Are you holding me captive or something?"

_Oh, perfect idea!_

Throwing on the best villain face he could manage, Alfred clasped his hands together, elbows on the table, and he brought his fingers to his nose so his eyes were peeking out – glaring out as sinisterly as he could manage. "Yes. That's exactly it," he said, pushing his voice as deep as he could make it without sounding stupid. "You are my prisoner. Of war."

_Got to add that last part. Makes everything cooler._

"I'm _what_?" Iggy exclaimed, his green eyes huge as he started to back away. "What war? I was never informed there was a war!"

_Oh shit. Think of something quick!_

"It's a – a war between you and – and France!" He cleared his throat, feeling the sweat forming and dripping down his back, knowing that he was lying between his teeth and good grief it should be obvious.

He gulped. _Those two are always fighting, aren't they? This should make perfect sense..._

To his surprise, England seemed even more shocked and freaked out. "What..._what_? Why am I at war with France? What did he ever do to me?"

"Oh man..." America groaned and shut his eyes, realizing he had made a terrible error.

_I thought they'd always been fighting. Was there a time when they weren't? Ah, shit, why did he have to drop to so young? I don't know England's history that well!_

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Well, I hate to be the one to inform you, but France hates you now and kinda wants to beat you up and take your land and stuff so -"

There was a moment of silence, and then little Iggy exploded in fury. "That _wanker_! I'll kill him!"

When the young England started rushing for the door, America sprang to his feet and grabbed a hold of the little arm, suddenly feeling like a terrible adult bully picking on an innocent kid. His stomach did _not_ feel good, that was for sure. "H-Hey! You're my prisoner, remember? You aren't allowed to leave this place!"

Of course England was going to put up every kind of fight in an effort to get free. "Let go of me you bloody Frenchie!"

America blinked. Of all the dramatic ironies...He wasn't sure what he thought about being called French. Dear god but that sounded weird...

Shaking his head, he pulled on Arthur's skinny arm and crouched down to his eye level. This made him feel like a stern parent giving some kind of lecture to a child and he felt even worse because he was having to grip hard to keep the young England still. "Nope, I'm not letting you go. You aren't allowed to leave, and to be honest you got lucky to be put under my watch."

_That's right, just keep making things up. He'll lap it all up 'cause he's a cute and innocent kid now. Oh man, it would be way too easy for his enemies to take advantage of this...No wonder Canada brought him to me..._

"Wha-what do you mean? How am I lucky?"

Alfred grinned. "'Cause it's _me_ and I'm a hero!"

Apparently, even little England knew how to huff and raise his eyebrows, which were still big and bushy. "How does that mean anything?"

"Well, see, a hero isn't going to keep you in a dungeon. I'll actually feed you and bathe you and treat you nice and everything." He found himself losing his thoughts in the daydream. He could imagine doing all these nice things for the adult England. "And you'll love me and we'll live happily ever after and -"

He was interrupted when Iggy pulled his arm out of his loosening grip. Thankfully, the child was just crossing his arms, like he had given up on running away for now. "If you're the self-proclaimed hero, then why are you capturing me?"

At the question, America blinked and scratched his head. "Huh. I didn't think of that." He narrowed his eyes at the new idea. "Because you're the bad guy?"

_Ah, idiot! Don't make it a question. Make it a statement of fact! Statements, not questions!_

"_What_? How am I the bad guy?"

_Well, that one is easy to answer at least._

Alfred let a grin spread across his face. "Because you're on the wrong side, silly!"

To his disappointment, England didn't seem to be buying it. "What is wrong with you?" The child scoffed and started walking toward the door again. "I'm leaving. You're crazy."

Snorting, America reached out and pulled Iggy back to him. "No you're not," he said as he sat on the ground and forced the child in his lap, wrapping his arms around him and cuddling. He tried to imagine he had the grown-up England here but it was kind of difficult when Arthur's arms and body were so small and so skinny.

"H-Hey! Bloody bastard! Let me go!"

"Nope. You're not going anywhere," Alfred laughed because he finally had England trapped in his house and he could do anything he wanted.

"I said let me go you bloody wanker!" Iggy shrieked, his voice high pitched and way too adorable to take seriously even if the arms were flailing around as his struggles increased.

America kept laughing. "Nope." And he kept cuddling because damn it all he was going to enjoy this moment. After all, who knew how many more memories Arthur was going to lose before they could find a solution?

The very idea made him loosen his grip, which allowed the squirming Iggy to jump out of his grasp. "Hah! Victory is mine!"

The moment he was free, Arthur started running for the door again. America reached his hand out and missed his chance to pull the little guy back. "Ah! No, wait!"

He pushed himself to his feet and rushed over to the front door, only to find England glaring up at the door knob. For a moment, Alfred stood there and had to take a second to stare at the scene before him. Little Iggy had his arms crossed and he was clearly upset and clearly displeased. A little hand reached up, barely missing the door knob, and America grinned when he realized what it meant.

He didn't have anything to worry about, after all. "What's the matter?"

"Shut up," Iggy mumbling, starting to jump up to hit the knob, as if hitting it would help or jumping would actually allow him to get a good enough grip to turn the thing and set himself free.

_He doesn't even realize it's locked..._

With a smile, he shook his head and leaned his shoulder against the door, crossing his arms as he looked down and watched the little nation trying so hard to get free. "Guess I really don't have to worry about you escaping after all."

The child England glared up at him before turning around with a scoff. "You can't keep me here forever."

"Wanna bet?"

"Yes, actually," Arthur said as he spun back around to face America. "I'll bet you land - land I'll get once I'm big and powerful."

_What the..._

Blinking, America could feel his eyes slowly start to widen. Did the kid have any idea...? Oh man, the dramatic ironies just kept piling up. What did fate have in store for him next?

Sticking his hands in his pockets, he mumbled, "I'll win in the end, you know."

"Hah! Sure you will!" Arthur exclaimed, puffing up like he was boasting. And then he deflated and frowned. "Oh, right, you're not a nation."

"Not now," America pointed out. "But if you lose land in a bet with me..." He shrugged. "Then maybe I _could_ be my own nation!"

Iggy scoffed and crossed his arms. "You should know it doesn't work like that."

"Well, how does it work then?" _Please, do tell. None of us know. _

Arthur opened his mouth and froze. His brow furrowed and then he huffed and turned away again. "I'm tired. I'm taking a nap."

_Derailed conversation...successful..._

With a smile, America nodded, "Okay, I'll show you to your room, then."

Granted, it was going to be _his_ room and _his _bed, but Iggy didn't need to know that. He'd sleep on the couch or something. Yeah, he'd spend another night curled up on his living room couch, watching TV and dreaming about sleeping next to England. Strange to believe, now that Arthur was _here_ in his house, Alfred couldn't do anything like he had originally planned, and whenever Iggy went back to his normal self he'd probably seclude himself away in his own country again.

Hanging his head with a sigh, America led Arthur into the bedroom, only able to smile a little bit when the child jumped on the king-sized bed and turned around to give him a nod. "This will do nicely. Thank you." He paused, his lower lip pouting out as he gave a small, confused frown. "Wait, why am I thanking you?"

With a shrug, Alfred allowed a light chuckle to escape his mouth. "'Cause that's what you always do?"

"How would you know that?" Iggy asked with a pointed huff.

_Right. Come up with some answer._

Using the excuse of tucking Arthur into bed, he searched his brain for a good enough excuse that child England would believe. He could feel his own eyes light up as he smiled. "Magic," he stated simply, knowing it was the perfect scapegoat.

Iggy loved magic.

The huge eyes were a complete surprise. "What? Magic? Really?"

_Oh please don't tell me..._

"Wait...you don't know magic?"

He groaned when Iggy shook his head. "No, I've only heard about it in stories and such."

"Oh...Well _crap_." _Now what am I supposed to do?_

"Prove it! Show me a spell!"

Alfred froze. Iggy sounded way too excited for his own good. So, not only did England _not_ know magic, but he had believed that Alfred could cast spells...or at least to the point that he was asking for proof. Even if it sounded more like Arthur was waiting expectantly and less like he was skeptical.

_Great..._

"Uhm...well..." He bit his lip and started scratching his head again, trying to make his brain work. "Actually...I'm not supposed to show uh...non-magic folk magic stuff. Kinda against the rules and all..."

And just like that, England gave in, crossing his arms and looking positively _disappointed_. "Bollocks."

America laughed. He couldn't help it. Iggy looked so _cute_ when he was pouting. "Haha, just go to sleep."

_That is what you've wanted to do since you got here._

"Yeah," England mumbled with a yawn. "You're right..."

Without any kind of hassle, little Arthur lay down in the bed and curled into a ball under the covers. America stayed and stared at him for a little bit. He watched the bushy eyebrows furrow even as the child tried to sleep. So, he _had_ worried the poor kid. Nation. Whatever.

_I feel like such a jerk. Why did I tell him he was a prisoner? Why did I make him think he was in a war? ...why was he so surprised to hear it was France?_

With those worried thoughts, Alfred sighed and left the room, turning the lights out and staring back at the sleeping child with a heavy heart. "G'night, Iggy."

~!~

_A/N: Yeah...I put off updating because I felt like things just weren't going to be my best. I hate to be the author that's putting down her own work but dang-it-all I -know- I can do better. Ah well. I'd rather give you guys something since so many people were upset to see a long lack of updates. Hopefully it stays cute and humorous. Not sure how many chapters are in store, but it -might- reach 10. Maybe. _

_~~Thank you for all reviews/alerts/favorites; I appreciate them all!~~_

_~Reda_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Notes****:**

-What am I doing? I don't know. A lot of work went into this next chapter. A LOT. Following a role-play is difficult sometimes, especially when it was done such a long time ago. Also, I picture Iggy as his chibi form in the anime. Fair warning for things getting really silly soon. I mean...America's trolling hard...

-I feel like I should mention that my take and knowledge of their relationship and just over all view of the hetalia pairings and characters in general has drastically, well, not so much _changed_ as changed _focus_, if that makes any sense at all to anyone. This story was never meant to be anything more than an excuse to turn England into a chibi who didn't know America – as if he had traveled back in time – and all the mess that came of it was more than I personally feel like handling. It was meant to be a cute story with cute moments and nothing more. Don't take it too seriously :)

~!~

A Little Problem

Chapter 3

~!~

America stared into the distance, groaning to himself as he sat on his couch. England was in his house. Finally, after so many years of trying to get him to visit, he was here. Except the situation couldn't have been more messed up. Arthur Kirkland had been turned back into his small, young self. At first, it had simply been a physical size issue, but now it was a memory issue, too.

...which left Alfred wondering if there was some weird time-travel rules that could mess with England – with the England _he_ knew and loved. So, he'd gone and made up a reason for Arthur to be here – and it felt like he had caused more harm than good. If America had traveled back in time, he would have known right away not to say anything about the future. If he had traveled to the future, he would have known not to bring anything back. After watching enough Doctor Who, The Butterfly Effect, and other time travel shows and movies, he had learned to be very careful around such weird things.

Of course, that meant he was interpreting England's strange reversion back to childhood as an odd twist in the time-space continuum. It could be anything, but if he was losing his memories...would it mean that referring to things that happened after his current age...wouldn't that mess with his memories for when he was back to normal? Or would it? What was the point of all this lying?

...and why was he secretly enjoying messing with England in such a way?

With a sigh, Alfred flipped his phone out of his pocket and dialed his brother, sitting back against the couch, staring blankly at the quiet, empty television screen. Usually, at this hour, the TV was on, whether or not he was watching it.

"Bonjour?" Canada answered on the third ring. "Alfred?"

"Hey bro," America said, trying to keep his voice peppy, "do you have any ideas of how to fix Iggy's problem, yet?"

"Nothing yet, but we're working non-stop over here." It didn't even cross Alfred's mind to ask about the _we_ in that statement. "Is he doing any better?"

This was where he groaned, slumping back against the couch, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table, staring up at the ceiling, feeling almost defeated. "Uh...no, actually...he's kinda...worse..."

"What do you mean?" Canada's voice came quick this time, sounding worried. "How is he worse?"

America reached up to rub at his eyes. "He asked me who I was...like we were meeting for the first time."

"_Dieu_, that sounds terrible. Don't worry, we'll figure something out." A pause. "Wait, what did you tell him?"

"Uh well, I kinda made up this whole story," he laughed, thinking about how ridiculous it all was now that he was sharing his cunning lies. "I gave him my real name and uh...Well..." He whispered the next part. After all, there was no way to know if little England was actually asleep in the other room or not. "He thinks he's a prisoner of war and that he's in a war with France..."

"What?" Canada was not happy. "Why would you do that? Why didn't you just tell him the truth?"

America groaned, tugging at his hair. "I don't know. What if he's stuck in some weird wibbly-wobby timey-wimey mess and if we reveal stuff that isn't true to the time he's stuck in it'll fuck things up? I don't know, I just don't want to screw with his mind."

It took a while for Matthew to respond this time. Like he was trying to decide if he was going to laugh at America's absurdity or just straight up call him an idiot. Mattie was like this, though. If he wasn't sure about something, he would sit back and honestly think about it for a few minutes before blurting anything out.

Finally, there came a sigh. "Ignoring the Doctor Who reference, that almost sounded smart, Alfred."

"Hey Doctor Who is an awesome show and you know it!"

"Isn't it British, though? What are you doing interested in shows outside of your American bubble, Al?"

Ignoring the jab at his lack of interest outside his current sphere of influence, Alfred decided instead to snap back. "Duh, it's British. It's his favorite show, isn't it?"

That brought Mattie up short – or, at least, he imagined it did. "I see." Mattie sighed again, "All right. Just do whatever you think is best."

"Yeah, but that's the thing," America whined. "How am I supposed to go to work if I can't let him outside to see all the technology? It's hard enough coming up with ways to explain what I have around the house!" He groaned. "_Please_ tell me you have an idea of how to fix this."

"Well, I'm sure you could always talk to your boss. I'm sure he's at least a little reasonable."

America scoffed. "Yeah right. If I mentioned anything about England's current state, he'd probably just want to take advantage like anyone else."

"Whatever," Canada huffed, apparently getting annoyed with the conversation. "Just keep Arthur distracted, then."

Before America could comment, the child version of Arthur Kirkland appeared in front of him. "You. Make me some food."

Alfred stared at the finger pointed at him, wondering when the little brat had managed to sneak in front of him like that. Had he really be so focused on his thoughts? So lost in his conversation to notice -? He groaned. Great. He was reminding himself of England, of those little things that had annoyed America when he was young and trying to get the attention of the older nation.

Then again, Arthur was still very much Arthur, ordering him around like that. It made his eye twitch. "That was a rather quick nap, don't you think?"

"Couldn't sleep. You were too loud." _Hah. Yep. Still the same old Arthur. _"What is that?"

Seeing that the green eyes were gazing at his phone, America shut his eyes and groaned. "This? It's uh..." _Quick. Think of something. _"It's a communication device. Let's me talk to people long distance."

_Well, it's true. Do I have to go into detail? No. _

At England's still disbelieving stare and raised eyebrow, America added, "You know, that magic stuff."

Which caused the eyebrows to raise considerably and the green eyes to widen. _He really does like the idea of magic, doesn't he? I guess he always has..._ "Whoa! Are you serious?"

"Yep! Betcha wish you could do that!" Grinning, he noticed that Mattie had hung up a long time ago, so he flipped his phone shut and set it in his pocket, watching Iggy's eyes the entire time. It was like the man – _child_ – couldn't seem to stop staring at the device.

But then those green eyes looked up at him and he stepped forward, setting hands on America's legs and looking so adorable. "Teach me."

"Uh..." Alfred felt a little overwhelmed just at the idea of teaching Arthur something – no, of Arthur _asking_, _wanting_ to be taught something. But then he grimaced and put a hand up to massaging his head. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Child-Arthur pouted, stepping back and crossing his arms and looking positively annoyed. "If I'm trapped here, then why not teach me?"

"Because I can't teach just anyone, you know." As soon as the words left his mouth, a memory hit his mind.

Of him asking England the same thing. The situation reversed. He could see it as if it were yesterday. And England's laughter as he patted him on the head and said how magic wasn't something you _just taught_ to someone, how there were a lot more rules and patterns and issues and...well...he couldn't honestly remember the whole lecture, but he_ did_ remember how Arthur was so insistent on _not_ teaching him.

Falling out of his memories he found green eyes glaring at him. "I order you to teach me! I'm a nation, so you must do as I say!"

_Oh? Is that how it worked back then? Nations had power over their people and flaunted it? _

America laughed and leaned his head back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "Hm, you aren't exactly in a position to give me orders."

"I told you, I'm a nation, so as a mortal, you must do as I say."

_Oh, sometimes I wished it worked like that. Sometimes._

Lifting his head and looking down at the child, America did his best to keep his face from showing his mirth. "What if I say no?"

Arthur flinched back, making Alfred frown. "A-ah that is..." Iggy lifted a hand, pointed a finger at him, and took a breath to control his stuttering before throwing out his argument. "I'll have the king give you a rightful punishment!"

Faking worry, America set a hand on his chest and moaned. "Oh no, don't do that," but then he cracked a grin. "Oh wait, I'm not part of your country so that has no effect on me."

"Bloody wanker," child-Arthur grumbled, returning his hands to his sides and glancing away, clearly upset.

With a laugh, Alfred stood up and reached out to ruffle the ash blond hair. "I guess I'll make you some food. Anything you craving?"

England looked away from him, scowling. "I take it back. I'm not hungry." Of course, his stomach soon betrayed him and a light blush crossed that face, looking cute, even more so because of his current age. "Scones," he muttered.

"Oh," America murmured, then giggled a bit to himself. "Yeah, you would." As he walked into his kitchen, he realized something else. He had no idea how to make England's favorite dish. "Eh...actually, I don't know how to make scones, so how about a bowl of cereal instead?"

"Ce-re-al?" England responded, as if tasting the word for the first time. "What the hell is that? Bloody French..."

"Heh." Chewing on his lip, he sighed and took out his phone, deciding he would look up a recipe and try it out. After all, it couldn't be near as difficult as England made it seem, could it? "Nevermind. I'll make those scones for you."

Thankfully, his internet wireless connection was reliable at the moment. It was a little hit or miss with his awful internet provider. Not that he had much choice. If he wanted to live here, he had the one choice of internet...well...of decent internet. At least it worked most of the time. And if he ever needed it for business purposes, then he could always leave the house and make his way down to an office. Even if it was in the middle of the night. Being a nation had its perks.

Heh. Guess it had always been like that, and always would.

"Do you even know how to make scones?" Child-Arthur grumbled as he followed Alfred to the kitchen.

Staring at the wiki-how explanation on his phone, America felt his eyebrow. "Of course I know!"

_You used to make them all the time. I just never cared to learn and memorize it, you know._

Reading the description, he started to pull out all the ingredients. Flour. Check. Baking powder. Uh, yes, check. Baking soda. Over there somewhere. Yep. Check. Sugar...

"You know," Arthur muttered, interrupting him from his place at the bar counter; the little brat had somehow managed to climb up one of the stools on his own and was now watching Alfred very intently. "It does take time."

America turned to him, feeling his eyebrow twitch. "Well you asked for it, so I assume you'll wait."

A stomach growl echoed between them. At least England had the decency to look embarrassed by it. "Not really. I'm hungry now."

Puffing out his cheeks, Alfred slammed the sugar on the bar counter, relishing in seeing little England jump at the noise. "You're a pain, you know that?"

Bushy eyebrows lowered. "Then let me go."

"No," America countered, quickly. "You aren't going anywhere. I'm going to make your stupid scones and you're going to be satisfied."

"Or," England said with a bit of sing-song attitude in his voice. "I'll just be an even bigger pain until you've had enough."

Huffing as he tossed the last of the ingredients on the counter, Alfred scowled at the cute England. Cute, little, child England who had so quickly gotten to an annoying point instead of being cute. "You wouldn't dare test me."

A smirk. A glint in those green eyes that America decided meant this would not end well. "Try me."

_Oh hell. This is not what I had in mind at all. Why can't you just go back to being cute and let me take care of you instead of being all...difficult?_

_Heh. Wonder how many times England thought those same things about me. I feel like someone upstairs is yelling karma at me right about now._

~!~

_A/N: There! Have another chapter! Bah! This is so much harder to write than it should be. Honestly..._

_~I appreciate all reviews/alerts/favorites; seriously, its the reviews that kept coming even when this story had been pretty much set on hiatus, those alone made me decide to suck it up and finish; funny enough I had half the chapter finished the whole time. Anywho, review if you want more and I'll keep working on it. Otherwise, geh..._

_~Reda_


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